


(you must've got one of them) combustible heads

by tardigradeschool



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigradeschool/pseuds/tardigradeschool
Summary: Even when he was a kid, Geordi always did have crushes on the knights in shining armor. If Data would just stop heroically saving him, it wouldn't be a problem.





	(you must've got one of them) combustible heads

**Author's Note:**

> title from You're On Fire by They Might Be Giants

Geordi had known about Data peripherally for years before they actually met; he was the subject of a dozen no-longer-theoretical debates among the engineering students and more than a few drunken, giggling conversations about android ethics that always seemed to revolve around sex. Still, Starfleet was big enough by then that he had never considered that he would meet him, let alone serve with him.

“I hope you don’t mind my excitement,” Geordi had said when he first met him, a few days before the Enterprise left Earth. “I just - your programming is  _ spectacular _ .” Geordi had spent the past week studying that very programming. It was only somewhat embarrassing how excited Geordi had when he received a file detailing everything Starfleet knows about Data’s workings. Although considering that the prior week he had been promoted to lieutenant commander, yet this was the thing he called his parents in person to talk about, he probably should have toned it down a little. 

Data emits a slightly different electromagnetic frequency than humans, who are the beings Geordi’s VISOR was primarily built to see, and it makes him glow slightly.

“Even if I were capable of minding,” Data said, “I doubt I would greet enthusiasm with reservation. Although I cannot feel excitement, I do experience similar intrigue when faced with the possibility of learning about new things.”

Geordi had grinned at him. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine then.”

 

It was almost by accident that they ended up spending time together. While the rest of the crew was spending their last few days before the mission with their families, Geordi’s family was halfway across the galaxy and Data didn’t have one. Then there was the fact that Data, despite being command track, was more knowledgeable about the ship’s mechanisms than half Geordi’s ensigns. He was also more than willing to be helpful. 

“It’s too bad you didn’t become an engineer,” Geordi said, leaning over to observe his progress. “We could have used your steady hands.”

Data peered at him. “Was that a compliment, lieutenant?”

“It was. Are you unfamiliar with them?”

“Not with the concept,” Data said. “But in the practice of receiving them, somewhat.”

Geordi frowned at him. “That’s a damn shame.” 

“I should remind you that I have no feelings to hurt. Still, I believe the proper response is ‘thank you’.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Data,” Geordi said, and Data had blinked at him in the way that Geordi was beginning to interpret as the android version of pleased. 

 

On the Enterprise’s second assignment with its current staff, the landing crew gets transported underground with alien transporters. To prevent them from bringing weapons, the Lygmins had adjusted it to only transport organic matter. Luckily, they provide some clothes upon arrival. Unluckily, Geordi’s VISOR has been abandoned somewhere on the surface, leaving him entirely blind. Perhaps even less luckily than that, an unfortunate shove made him land badly on his left foot, and now his ankle is likely broken or at least badly sprained. 

He’s felt out the edges of his cell, walking on his knees, mostly to keep from feeling entirely useless in captivity. Of course the VISOR has changed his life in so many ways, but the flipside of being able to see through it is that every time it’s taken off him, it’s like being blinded all over again. 

Geordi has situated himself in the corner of his square cell, against the wall, when he hears a scuffle somewhere near to his cell. It is over remarkably quickly, and Geordi wonders with a flash of horror if, in trying to rescue him, someone has been beat up or killed. 

Footsteps approach the cell bars across from Geordi. Geordi barely has time to register them as familiar when a low voice says, “Lieutenant La Forge.”

“Data,” he breathes. “Oh, thank god.” 

There is a sound that Geordi doesn’t recognize, and then Data is moving toward him. He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder - probably Data’s way of alerting him to his presence - and then the VISOR slips onto his face and clicks in. Geordi can’t help a sigh of relief as he blinks and then focuses on the face in front of him. 

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathlessly. Data has some trouble identifying emotion still, so Geordi isn’t too embarrassed to be really obviously relieved. He’s never been a very good stoic. He glances behind Data and sees that Data has foregone getting a key in favor of simply wrenching two of the iron bars apart and stepping through. 

“You are welcome,” Data responds. “Are you capable of walking?”

“Yes,” Geordi says, then remembers his ankle, which is beginning to throb again. “Well, no, probably not.”

Data nods, then reaches around Geordi to get an arm around his back, fitting his other arm neatly under Geordi’s knees, careful not to jostle him. Barely adjusting his center of gravity, in a smoother motion than Geordi could have anticipated, Data stands, pulling Geordi deftly against his chest. Geordi automatically puts an arm over Data’s shoulders. 

“I judged this position to be more efficient than what is known as a fireman’s carry,” Data says, stepping through the gap in the bars he created, “as I did not wish to worsen your injury.”

“Mr. Data,” Geordi says, “Let’s get out of here.” In the moment, he’s not thinking about anything except how much he wants to get to Sickbay. 

 

Later, though, when the indomitable Dr. Crusher has released him and he’s back to his own quarters, only a slight ache in his ankle to indicate that anything happened at all, it occurs to him that he’s never been with anyone who could lift him.

To be fair, Geordi’s only dated three people in his life, and one wasn’t really dating so much as a series of ill-advised dates over the course of a couple months. Another was in high school, so he’s not certain how much that counts either. 

Then again, he thinks, turning over onto his side, Data’s never dated anyone. Geordi is close enough to sleep that he doesn’t question why he thinks it.

 

“Well, then what do you think it did when it graduated?”

The ensign snorts. “Probably just went home and plugged itself into the wall like any other day.”

Geordi’s been in the in-between headspace of concentrated work, which is why it takes him slightly longer than it would to register what the two young men behind him are talking about. 

“Excuse me,” he says, and gets a little pleasure out of watching them both jump. “Am I correct in assuming you’re talking about Lieutenant Commander Data?”

The boys exchange a look. Geordi only recognizes one of them; he’s been assigned to be essentially a secretary for the engineering section, Ensign Mitchell. “Yes,” says the other eventually. 

“Well, I hope you understand that discussing a superior officer in a disrespectful manner is both damaging to the career and can result in a xenophobia court martial.”

The second young man swallows. Mitchell visibly flushes. “But  _ sir _ ,” he says, “It’s not like we can offend it.”

“Him,” Geordi corrects. “Didn’t I assign you a full workload this morning?”

That gets the kid when the threat didn’t. “Yessir,” he mutters. 

“Dismissed,” Geordi says. “But if I hear you calling Data ‘it’ again, you’ll be getting much more than a full workload for as long as you’re under my command.”

“Understood, sir,” Mitchell mumbles. 

Geordi returns to his work. At least two minutes (or thereabouts; Geordi’s perception of time is flimsy when he’s concentrating) pass before Geordi realizes Data is standing directly beside him and jumps.

“Data! You startled me.”

“I apologize, Geordi,” Data says. (Geordi had insisted, after the third week in space, that Data call him by his first name. “It’s only fair,” he said. “I call you Data, so you should call me Geordi.” Plus, he likes the way Data says his name.) 

Geordi waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. What’s up?” Data makes the beginning of a glance toward the ceiling; Geordi corrects himself. “I mean, what did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to… thank you,” Data says. “I was coming down to Engineering when I heard you reprimand those two crewmen. There was no reason for you to admonish them, but it is… gratifying to be respected.”

“No reason?” Geordi echoes. “Of course there was a reason, Data. They shouldn’t get to talk about anyone like that, android or no. Besides, I could hardly let them badmouth my friend.”

If he hadn’t spent so much time with him in the past month, Geordi would not have caught it: the momentary widening of Data’s eyes in what must be surprise, the straightening of his shoulders. 

“Thank you, Geordi,” he says, a fraction more quietly than his normal voice, and then he turns and leaves. 

This is the moment where Geordi fully understands the scale of what Data’s creator has accomplished. Data may not be indistinguishable from a human and he may have some difficulty with colloquialisms, but if Geordi hadn’t known he couldn’t feel, hadn’t actually looked at his positronic brain and  _ known  _ it, he would have had a damn hard time convincing himself. 

 

Geordi has, you know, made friends in the past. Of course he’s had friends. Good friends, even. But most of those friendships were formed through a common interest (and that common interest was almost unfailingly engineering) and a common location. Geordi’s kept in touch with his high school friends, but barely, and he’s kept in touch with his Academy friends, but only slightly better. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect them, or vice versa, but both parties had recognized that they were going in different directions. 

That said, it’s a little scary how quickly he finds himself unable to imagine life without Data. 

It’s not even that Data is especially helpful; as knowledgeable as Data is, Geordi’s the best equipped to do his own job of anyone on the ship. It’s more that Data, for all his complex circuitry, is easy for Geordi to exist alongside. Not mechanically or even intellectually, but in a way Geordi isn’t sure how to quantify. He and Data don’t perceive the world in the same way, but they both see it in ways that are different to how the rest of the world does. They understand each other.

Geordi doesn’t think about it too hard; he doesn’t necessarily want to dwell on the fact that the officer quickly becoming his closest friend is programmed to see the best in people. 

 

“I’m sorry?” Geordi says, hoping desperately he’s heard wrong. “All due respect, Captain, but are you sure that’s the best idea?”

Picard at least has the presence of mind to look a little apprehensive. “Unfortunately, Lieutenant, it appears to be our best option.”

Geordi exchanges a look with Data, who appears to have also seen the holes in the captain’s plan. Somewhat delicately, he begins, “Captain… I am sure you are aware, but I am an android and I frequently have difficulty interpreting human reactions to things, while Lieutenant La Forge…” He looks back at Geordi and doesn’t finish his sentence. Geordi assumes it went something like  _ …has never had a successful social interaction in his life. _

“And we’re not exactly inconspicuous,” Geordi adds, for good measure.

“Yes, thank you,” Picard says, looking almost amused at Data’s concern. “I do have an understanding of the situation. However, our contact will be unspeakably offended if we send a junior officer, and the Jhalians will doubtless be looking for the faces of myself and Commander Riker. We cannot send Mr. Worf or Counselor Troi as any Klingons or Betazoids will immediately be under suspicion. That leaves the two of you as our…”

“Spies?” Geordi asks.

Picard frowns at him. “Operatives. Spies makes it sound rather glamorous.”  

 

It is not glamorous in the least. Geordi and Data just have to be unremarkable enough to get through to their Jhalian contact without a second glance, a task which probably could have been handled more easily by any other two members of the Enterprise crew. 

Luckily, the city they’re visiting is a sightseeing location, so they can bank on other strange-looking tourists to balance them out. Geordi can just wear one of his few non-uniform outfits, but Data has to borrow a shirt; he’s narrower in the chest than Geordi is, and the shirt hangs off him loosely. Someone - Geordi suspects Riker, but there’s no way to be sure - has also given Data a baseball cap. It’s the only thing keeping Geordi from an anxiety attack.

Everything goes relatively smoothly for the first ten minutes. Body modification is popular in this sector, and any second looks that Geordi’s VISOR or Data’s coloring would have received are passed on to the man whose hair appears to be  _ writhing _ , and the young child with teeth so large she cannot close her mouth. 

Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done until the contact signals them, so Geordi and Data are left to wander the lurid marketplace. Neither of them is much of an actor, so they mostly just go along as they normally would, were the stakes not incredibly high and the market a little too loud. Data taps bells on display, peers into glass orbs, sticks fingers into the cages of small, unidentifiable animals. Geordi trails behind him, letting him lead the way and glancing warily into the crowd. They are nothing but distinctive-looking, which will make sure that the contact finds them, but if Picard was wrong and they are recognized by the wrong people, things could be going very badly for them very shortly. 

Sure enough, a man sidles up to them not twenty minutes into their wandering around. He’s definitely Jhalian, as evidenced by his nearly cubic head and impressive stature, but they don’t know anything else about whoever they’re supposed to be meeting. 

“Enjoying your visit?” he rumbles.

“Yeah, yup,” Geordi says, nodding. He can feel Data move closer behind him, almost protectively. If this guy is their contact, he should be bringing up the candy shop he supposedly runs. 

“I know someone you might like to meet,” he says. Geordi’s throat constricts with anxiety; another person was never part of the plan - is this a trap? Then the man says, “I think you gentlemen would find her very beautiful,” and Geordi’s anxiety ramps up for an entirely different reason; he was not briefed on how to deal with Jhalian pimps. 

Surprisingly, Data seems to have been. He steps forward and takes Geordi’s hand as he draws himself up - in anyone else Geordi would call it possessiveness - and says, in his politest voice. “I’m sorry, sir, my husband and I are celebrating our fourth anniversary. Was there something you wanted?”

The Jhalian shakes his square head and lumbers off. Data waits for him to get out of ear range to say, “Jhalians respect marriage like they respect little else. I thought it would be the most efficient way to remove ourselves from his company.”

“That was great, Data,” Geordi says, sagging back against him. It’s never been more evident that he was right to be uninterested in command; even that little confrontation has set off more adrenaline than he’s necessarily able to handle. “C’mon, we should keep moving around.” He steps forward, pulling Data inadvertently with him. Their hands are still linked. 

Neither of them lets go during the forty-five minutes it takes for their contact to contact them. 

 

Geordi’s always hated the cold, and he’s pretty sure that if he lives through this he’s going to hate it even more. He also hates that he can’t be more useful, but there’s really nothing to do but sit out of the wind and wait for the shivering to go away.

“Has your condition improved?” Data asks. He had been gathering wood from the trees nearby, but had to stop when the wind got strong enough to knock him over. He is unsuccessfully trying to start a fire. 

“Can’t really tell,” Geordi gets out. At least his teeth have stopped chattering. He tries to get up, to help Data, but Data turns around and frowns at him.

“If you continue in your current state, it is probable you will lose vital energy.”

“Right.” Geordi sits back down.

Data appears to give up on the wood, standing back up. “It is very likely that the storm is disrupting the Enterprise’s ability to locate us.”

“I had the same theory. Otherwise they would have come to get us already.” Geordi rubs his hands together to fend off the numbness creeping into them. Data takes a neat step forward and takes Geordi’s hands in his own. 

Data’s skin is so warm that it feels like it’s burning Geordi’s freezing hands, but it's so good that Geordi barely registers it. “I adjusted my body heat,” Data offers in answer to Geordi’s gape. “You should refrain from rubbing your hands too much. If you become hypothermic, it can cause damage to the skin.”

“Good to know,” Geordi says. Feeling has returned to his hands, bringing with it an unpleasant prickling; Geordi flexes them to get blood circulating. “ _ Thanks _ , Data.”

Data is studying him carefully, and after a moment of thought, he leans down to wrap his arms around Geordi’s torso. For an android he’s a surprisingly good hugger, gently folding himself around Geordi with only slight stiffness - but what stands out more is how incredibly  _ warm  _ he is. Geordi hugs back gratefully.

“Is this an improvement?” Data asks, almost directly into Geordi’s ear.

“ _ Yes _ , Data, absolutely it is.” He has the feeling that even if a bear or one of the indigenous creatures (the xenobiology team called them land-walruses, but that can’t be right) were to wander into their shallow cave, Geordi would still be pretty hard-pressed to let go of Data. 

When Geordi’s legs start to get tired from standing, they maneuver so he can sit down; they end up with Data sitting with his back to the wall and Geordi sitting in front of him, back against Data’s chest. Geordi has a brief, terrible vision of what would have happened if he had been abandoned on this planet with Worf rather than Data: the two of them sitting huddled on opposite sides of the cave, slowly freezing to death. 

“Thank you,” he says, for what must be tenth time.

“Of course,” Data says. Because of the way they’re sitting, he says it into the back of Geordi’s neck, which makes Geordi shiver a little, and Data tightens his arms around him, just barely, wonderfully, and Geordi thinks, oh - oh no. 

 

When Geordi walks into Ten-Forward and sees Data sitting at a table, his first reaction is one of pleasant surprise. His second is one of confusion. Data is off-duty, and while it isn’t uncommon for Data to spend time with crewmembers other than Geordi, it does catch Geordi off guard when he notices that the woman across from him - one of the lower-ranked ambassadors that the Enterprise is currently escorting - is attempting to play footsie with him. 

It’s not that people are uninterested in Data, not at all. But they usually lose interest when they find out he’s an android. This woman was there when the whole senior staff was introduced, so she knows that Data isn’t human. And yet.

Against his better judgement, Geordi makes his way closer. The table is positioned so Data’s back is to the door; he has no idea Geordi is here, and the ambassador has no reason to take note of another crewmember. 

Geordi catches a couple snippets of their conversation; he can’t hear all the ambassador’s words, but he can hear her tone, which is unmistakably flirtatious. A distasteful feeling is rising in Geordi, and it doesn’t seem to be going away. He’s irritated with this woman but primarily he’s frustrated with himself; Geordi may not be the most self-aware man in Starfleet, but he can recognize jealousy when he’s feeling it. 

He could write it off as a result of a number of factors; he and Data are close friends, and Data has saved his life countless times. Then again, so have other crewmembers, and yet Geordi feels nothing but fond exasperation when he sees, say, Commander Riker flirting with yet another crewmember, a near daily occurrence. Geordi glances back at Data again; the ambassador is trying to persuade him to have a taste of her drink. Geordi leaves.

 

When Geordi was fifteen, paralyzingly awkward, and not getting any taller, his mother had tried to tactfully console him about his future with women. As far as he can remember, it had had something to do with how when he got older they would start appreciating him for his mind. 

Geordi, who had not been aware that anything about the situation required condolences, asked when he could go back to building the microscope he’d been working on.

His mother had laughed. “Never mind,” she said, running a hand over his hair affectionately. “I’m sure you’ll find a nice machine to settle down with someday.”

Oh, Geordi thinks when he remembers this at 0200 hours, lying face down on his bed. The irony.

 

Barely a second passes between the first shot and the second, but in that miniscule amount of time, Data has stepped neatly in front of Geordi while Geordi is still trying to process exactly what happened, ears ringing. Because everything happens so quickly, Data doesn’t brace himself and the impact of the shot sends him stumbling back, Geordi taking most of his weight. In some of the quicker thinking Geordi has demonstrated, he manages to drag Data behind a large rock before anyone can fire on them again. 

Data took the blast in the shoulder; his uniform and skin have burned away to reveal the second layer of circuits. “God, Data,” Geordi murmurs, and Data looks at him with concern. 

“I cannot feel pain,” he says, a gentle reminder. He seems to hesitate before reaching out and placing the hand of his uninjured arm on the hand that Geordi has clenched on his own knee. 

“Still,” Geordi says, although some of the terror that had been coursing through him fades a little bit. “Data, I’m not sure I’ll be able to fix this even if we do somehow survive long enough to reach the ship. Can you move your fingers at all?”

“I cannot feel anything in my arm below my shoulder,” Data admits. His eyes search Geordi’s face, seeming more sympathetic than anything else. “Still, I am certain I can be useful in getting us safely back to the Enterprise regardless.”

Geordi startles even himself with the tears he’s holding back. There are some high stress environments he’s good in (tests, making the engines work) and some that he is less good in (improv comedy, friend in danger). “Data,” he manages, “I’m not worried about you being useful, I’m worried about  _ you _ .”

Data blinks - that’s surprise in his eyes, damn him - but takes it more or less in stride. “I apologize for causing you worry,” he says, almost uncertainly. His good hand is still on top of Geordi’s. 

Geordi is having a much harder time not crying than he had expected. He blames it on the adrenaline. “Thank you for saving my life,” he says. “Again.”

Data makes his face that isn’t quite a smile. “As always, it is my pleasure, Geordi. Now, I suggest we make use of the haphazardly placed rocks to attempt an escape.”

In the end, it works out; Data’s arm was salvageable, although Geordi suspects it will forever make a clicking noise when he rotates it, thanks to a slightly warped joint. Everything turned out more or less as well as it could be expected to. If Geordi has a couple nightmares in the following weeks about what might have happened if the blast had hit a more essential part of Data, or something he couldn’t fix, it just reminds him how lucky they were. 

 

The worst part is that it (Geordi will never concede to being more specific, even in his own head; every descriptor he can come up with is either too juvenile or too  _ much _ ) was probably inevitable. Geordi, in all his infinite anxiety, has always tended to be interested in people who would never look twice at him. Or, in Data’s case, are literally incapable of reciprocating. Geordi thinks it’s a kind of defense mechanism to protect him from rejection; if he can justify never taking romantic risks, he never has to face disappointment. 

And then he’ll look at Data and think - well, who wouldn’t be a little in love with him?

 

The cement floor is hard under his knees. The touch of the disrupter that is pressed to the back of his head is deceptively light. In the way of underground places, sound is slightly muffled, absorbed into the walls, though it could be the ringing in Geordi’s ears. He thinks he’s concussed. His head hurts. His wrists hurt. His heart is beating fast. This is what Geordi knows.

“I fail to comprehend why-” That’s Data’s voice, level but with an edge to it Geordi can’t place.

“Answer the question, android,” growls whoever is holding the disrupter, above Geordi’s head. Without warning, Geordi is dragged inelegantly to his feet by the back of his uniform. “Or else he  _ will _ die.” 

“I understand,” Data says, and then, to Geordi’s surprise, “No more. I will tell you. The rendezvous point is approximately halfway between the two bases, midday tomorrow. I do not know details beyond that.”

“I believe you,” a third voice says, with the same guttural quality as whoever is behind Geordi. “That is all for now, android.” There are several footsteps that Geordi cannot identify, and then he finds himself being shoved forward. With his hands bound behind him, he almost certainly would have landed painfully on his side were it not for Data, catching him by the shoulder to brace him when he staggers to his knees. 

Geordi waits, heart still beating painfully hard in his chest, reluctant to untense until he’s sure their captors have left, until they are alone. 

“Geordi,” Data says softly, “Are you well?” Geordi can feel him reach up to his head to feel for an injury and doesn’t stop him, just lets the touch ground him and tries to only wince a little when Data finds the spot that the pain is radiating from. 

“Fine,” Geordi says. “More or less, anyway. My VISOR?”

“I am afraid they confiscated it along with our weapons.” Data reaches behind him and easily snaps whatever was binding his wrists.

“Data,” he says, flexing his hands to get the feeling back, “What were you thinking, giving them the information?”

“I told them nothing they did not already know,” Data assures him. “I believe this was a test of my… inclination to give them what they want, so to speak.” He pauses. “Though, even if the situation were more dire, I cannot imagine I would have chosen a different course of action.”

“What?” 

Data’s tone falls just barely on the kind side of reproachful. “You underestimate your own importance, Geordi.”

“My importance? Data, the captain didn’t even tell me what was going on until we were already here.” Data is above him on the chain of command, for god’s sake; Geordi’s presence in this mission is more coincidence than anything else. 

“You misunderstand,” Data says, in the same quiet, even tone he’s been using all along. “I meant to speak of your importance to me.” 

The hand that Data had been using to examine his head had rested on the juncture of his shoulder and neck, and now comes up to cup his cheek. Data’s touch is light, but unmistakable. Geordi suddenly, desperately wishes for his VISOR back; he has never wished to be able to see someone so badly. Instead, he has to settle for saying, “Data?” in a much more unsure voice than he had intended. 

“Would it be acceptable-” Data begins, and Geordi says, “Yes.”

Kissing Data is just like kissing a human person, except Data has better breath on account of not needing to eat food. It’s an awkward angle; they’re both kneeling, holding onto each other. Data is hesitant at first, and Geordi’s knees are starting to hurt, so Geordi pulls him toward him, sitting back and maneuvering his legs until Data is all but sitting in his lap. His balance is slightly off, however, and he leans too far back. Data puts a hand on the ground to steady them and the movement breaks them apart, just barely. 

After a moment, Geordi laughs. Despite the situation, he feels almost giddy.

“This is - acceptable?” Data says. 

Geordi finds his arm and squeezes - a familiar gesture between them. “Yeah, Data,” he says, not able to fight down a smile. “More than.”

 

Data doesn’t let go of him until he gets his VISOR back. After Worf finds them, they have to walk half a mile to get to a point where the Enterprise can beam them up. Data shifts his grip from his arm to his hand. If Worf is giving them a strange look, Geordi can’t see it. By the time they hand him back his recovered VISOR upon arrival on the Enterprise, Geordi is the one not letting go. 

Dr. Crusher prescribes rest as a cure for his mild concussion. “Maybe take tomorrow off,” she says, expression betraying the sympathy her professional tone does not. “But you should feel better soon.”

Until she said that, Geordi hadn’t realized how exhausted he felt. When he and Data reach the point in the hallway where they ordinarily split to go to their separate rooms, Data makes no motion to leave and Geordi makes no motion to allow him to. “I know your room is closer,” he says, although they seem to have reached the same conclusion. “But you don’t have a bed-” He realizes how that sounds and abruptly shuts up. Data, thankfully, seems unbothered by the innuendo. 

They reach Geordi’s quarters in silence. Geordi’s so tired that he doesn’t even bother changing clothes, just toes his shoes off. It occurs to him that there’s been no discussion of Data’s plan; he could have been being chivalrous and walking Geordi home. The embarrassment that had been absent since their rescue returns slightly. Geordi asks, “Will you stay?”

Data says, “I will.”

It shouldn’t be this easy, Geordi thinks, for Data to follow him and lie down beside him. Geordi sleeps on his back, normally, and it only takes a tug on Data’s hand for him to curl closer, fitting himself against Geordi’s side. Geordi usually takes the VISOR off at this point, but he’s not quite ready to not see yet. So he just looks at Data. Data looks back at him. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, suddenly a little uncertain. 

“Yes,” Data says easily, immediately, and some of the tightness in Geordi’s chest unravels enough to let him breathe.

 

Geordi must have turned onto his side during the night, because when he wakes up it’s to Data settled against his back, one arm carefully placed over Geordi’s side. For a moment, Geordi is afraid he’ll wake him, then remembers that Data doesn’t sleep.

“What time is it?” he asks. He leans forward to grab his VISOR, then nudges Data’s arm; Data lifts it and Geordi turns over to face him.

“Shortly after 1100,” Data says.

“Whoa,” Geordi says. He hasn’t slept this late probably since the Academy. “I hope I wasn’t boring you.” 

“Not in the least,” Data says, “Although I do have some… concerns.” He looks, as much as an android can, a little cagey, and all of Geordi’s remaining sleepiness vanishes.

“Concerns?” he echoes. Geordi has never gotten the hang of not trying to run diagnostics on life; at the moment he’s having a hard time convincing himself that the kiss last night wasn’t the hallucinated result of his bruised brain. 

“Yes,” Data says. “I am unsure if I can adequately provide the more emotionally complex duties required of an individual in a romantic relationship. Indeed, I am unsure what exactly constitutes a relationship of that nature, which will almost certainly limit my ability to operate within one.”

“A romantic relationship,” Geordi says, trying to process a word at a time. “Is that what you want?”

Data hesitates. “I believe so,” he says, in the forthright manner which Geordi has become so accustomed to. “Geordi, you are the most important person in my life, and I am given to understand that this often translates well into romance.”

He says it so simply, the same way he does facts and figures, as though this admission doesn’t change the fabric of Geordi’s universe. 

“That said,” Data continues. “Perhaps that very assumption on my part is in error. However much I wish to be, I am not human, and therefore it is unlikely a relationship with me could be accordingly fulfilling for you.”

Geordi is not accustomed to speaking before he thinks, so the sentence comes out a little disjointed. “Data, I don’t think you - I don’t need  _ more _ than this. I don’t-” He takes a moment to find the right words. “Every relationship I’ve had before ended because I didn’t know how to balance my work and my partner. I’m not  _ good _ at this kind of thing, I never have been. But you make me  _ happy _ , and if you want this…?” Data nods, brow drawn. “We could be bad at it together.”

Data looks cautious. “I am incapable of arranging the appropriate spontaneous romantic gestures that might be expected or traditional.”

Geordi doesn’t mean to laugh; it just sort of happens. The two of them have debated enough that he knows when he’s winning, and this is one of those times, especially since he thinks Data wants to lose. “Data, you know me. I hate big gestures. I  _ hate _ spontaneity.”

“That is true.” Data agrees. He still looks somehow wary. “Are you certain you-”

“Data,” Geordi interrupts. “This is probably my last full day off for the next decade. Unless what you’re about to say is a really good reason for why we shouldn’t be fooling around right now…?”

Data only pauses infinitesimally. “I do not believe it is,” he says decisively, and Geordi grins.

 

EPILOGUE

 

The captain looks aggrieved. Geordi suspects the problem is not the issue itself, but the fact that Picard was called upon to address it. 

“We really are sorry, Captain,” he says, for probably the fifth time.

Picard sighs. “It isn’t as though I expected this from either of you, but -  _ especially _ not you, Data.”

“I apologize too, sir,” Data says, but Geordi doesn’t think he looks that sorry. “We had attempted to locate the most rarely used Jeffries tube on the ship to avoid this very problem.”

A subtle hint of outrage creeps into Picard’s voice. “You couldn’t have used  _ none _ of them?” He recovers himself. “Well, I suppose it has happened and the only thing to do is to firmly tell you not to do so again.”

“Yes, sir,” Geordi and Data say in unison. 

“Right,” Picard says. “How long has this been going on?”

“Four months and twenty-seven days,” Data says at once. 

Picard doesn’t look too surprised, but he does say, “Really? Is that all?”

“Yes,” Geordi says. “Um, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you ask?”

“I am not much given to gossip,” Picard says, leaning back in his chair, “But it is my understanding that Riker now owes Guinan a not insubstantial amount of money.”

Geordi manages a smile. “Always happy to help Guinan, sir.”

Picard nods at them, a clear dismissal. They’re at the door when Picard says, “Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Congratulations.” A little amusement has softened his voice; Geordi suspects he knows that he won’t be reprimanding them for this particular infraction again.

Geordi is really not looking forward to when he’s going to have to ask for Picard’s blessing.


End file.
